I Don't Want to Set the World on Fire
by Iamdanny0
Summary: Fallout 3 prequel. A man escapes from the destruction of his hometown with only his baby son and a .44 magnum revolver and finds refuge in the most unusual of places. Paradise Falls. What will happen to his son's moral compass in the midst of such evil and what effect will his offspring have upon the wasteland?
1. Chapter 1

**Start at the start**

_17__th__ August, 2255_

The Capital Wasteland was never an ideal place for a child to grow up in with all the pain, the death and the starvation. What kind of father would wish that upon his son? Lionel Harsham certainly did not. A post-apocalyptic world filled with murderers and monsters was not his ideal context for the development of his own flesh and blood, but here they were, man and babe, crossing a radioactive nightmare with a shared purpose.

"We'll be fine, John, don't you worry," Lionel declared with more certainty than he was feeling.

"Birdie!" declared John confidently, pointing to the vultures circling overhead.

Well, at least **he** had a purpose: get his son away from that god-forsaken village. Some ramshackle sheets of metal hammered together to form a large square, with small sheds erected within the square. Was that really a village? It didn't matter anymore, for the giant radscorpions had destroyed it all; killing his wife Susan, decimating his home and leaving the corpses of his friends strewn everywhere. He hadn't even had time to say goodbye or grab any possessions. He'd simply grabbed his wailing son and fled, his .44 magnum revolver at his hip and sorrow filling his heart over the loss of the life he had known with his soulmate. The tears of both father and son had fallen onto the dusty ground for the first hour of travel before Lionel had managed to stem the flow and gently shush John, who had fallen asleep soon after.

Predictably, John had woken up with a start a few hours later when Lionel forgot himself and fired his magnum at a passing Enclave eyebot, reducing it to mere scrap; they just infuriated him. Where was the mighty Enclave now? Why weren't they here helping him and his son? Where was that pompous bastard Eden? He sure as fuck wasn't back at the ruined village with a plasma rifle! And the Enclave had the nerve to preach to him?

Oddly, John didn't even cry. He just awoke with a start and stared accusingly at his father. "Sorry, kiddo, go back to sleep, everything's fine," murmured Lionel. John duly obliged after some mild rocking along with a gentle hand rubbing his back. Everything was far from fine. Lionel didn't even know where he was going; he'd just picked a random direction and fled, careful to stay as far away as possible from where the radscorpions had attacked.

Judging by the sun he was travelling west, which was as good a direction as any, even if Megaton was a great distance south. He couldn't walk until he collapsed, and so far he'd been lucky enough to avoid the various horrors of the waste. God knew he couldn't survive without food and water, and neither could John. The kid had been quiet and calm for long enough already, but soon he'd want sustenance, which Lionel was markedly incapable of providing.

Then, as if by a miracle, civilization! He could see some sort of structure on the horizon, and as he got closer and closer, he realized it was a giant, fat man holding an ice cream cone. Plastic of course, but this bizarre sight was salvation to the eyes of Lionel. As he got even nearer to the colossus, he realized that it must have previously been a mascot for the ruined supermarket.

Even more noteworthy was the presence of armed men around the facility: protectors! Lionel's heart swelled at the thought. He could live here! He and his son would be safe. All he had to do was introduce himself to the community and make it known he was willing to do anything to integrate and help out. They were sure to accept a healthy, fit man with a lethal aim; he would be part of a neighbourhood again and be, if not happy, then at least content. He approached the heavy set, scowling man at the entrance which was populated with sandbags and cruel looking barbed wire.

"_Better to be safe than sorry." _Lionel thought as he surveyed the heavy defenses before opening his mouth and (praying silently that he'd be accepted) said, "Hello? My name is Lionel and I was wondering..."

The man scowled at him even deeper than before and interrupted, "I don't care. If you're not buying or selling..." his gaze flickered over John, "then fuck off."

Lionel started at the bluntness and blatant vulgarity, but pressed on regardless. "I'm afraid I'm not here to trade. I was wondering if it would be possible for me and my son to live here. I'm pretty handy with firearms, and I'd be willing to help out in return..." The muscled guard looked taken aback by this request and Lionel began to feel suspicious as to the nature and purpose of the town, but again took the route of politeness and waited for a response.

"Are you fucking crazy, buddy? Why would you **want **to live at Paradise Falls? You got a death wish or something? I mean, we could arrange something, but you do know what goes on here, right?"

When Lionel responded in the negative, the guard sighed and run a hand across his buzzcut hair before continuing, "We buy and sell slaves here, pal. Either you live here as a slaver or a slave. I reckon you ain't got enough nerve to be the former and you've got too much to be the latter."

Lionel was horrified and was about to spin on his heel and flee, when the soft burbling of his son made him pause. They could be safer here than out there. Morals couldn't keep his only link to Susan alive. Food, water and a safe place to sleep... he could pretend to tolerate the values held here and teach his son the total opposite and hopefully put some good back into the world after being so apathetic towards the evil. He clenched his jaw and set his mouth in a firm line. His mother had been a doctor of no small talent; therein lay his trump card.

"I'm medically trained, sir. If you let me live here, I could examine the wounds and ailments of slavers **and slaves.**" The emphasis on the last two words made the guard roll his eyes, but he stroked his stubbled chin in serious consideration.

"How do I know you're not lying? Lots of people are just looking for shelter."

"I could shoot you in the leg then heal you..." The acerbic words escaped Lionel's mouth before he could clamp his mouth shut, and his eyes widened at the potential destruction of a life-saving arrangement. To his immense relief, the guard chuckled and slapped him on the back.

"Looks like we're gonna have to watch you, Doc." The brief jocularity evaporated and was replaced with a businesslike demeanor. "Report to our boss, Eulogy. He took over from Harmon recently." At this point, he leaned in theatrically, "Bloke was fucking insane. Used to eat the slaves he couldn't sell. Eulogy may be young, but he's got one hell of a silver tongue and knows exactly what he's doing. Sure, he's too eager to get his end away at times, but there are things in the wasteland worse than womanizing, Doc."

Lionel was caught between elation at making it in, and horror at the company he'd soon be keeping. He shook it aside and focused on his son, and reassured himself he was doing the right thing. "Thanks very much. Could I ask you your name?" Lionel stretched out his arm, and the guard, clearly unused to such pleasantries, hesitated for a second before firmly grasping the hand and shaking it once.

"Dennis. The name's Dennis. Go in to see Eulogy and tell him you're our new doctor, and he'll assign you to where you need to be."

Lionel nodded politely to Dennis and stepped through the foreboding gate with John clutched tightly to his chest.

"_Please let this be the right decision..."_


	2. Chapter 2

**Another Day in Paradise**

"No." Lionel looked impassively down at his son, only five years old, albeit rapidly approaching six. Truthfully, he was amazed his son thought he had a hope in hell of granting this request.

"But why?" John's bottom lip was wobbling dangerously, and his father knew this to be an early warning sign for a full scale tantrum.

"Why?" Lionel's voice bordered on the hysterical. "Because you're five years old! What makes you think I would give a five-year-old a gun?"

"I'm almost six, daddy! I'd be really careful with it; I'd clean it, look after it and only shoot people who were really naughty!" John's tone was beseeching and he had his hands clasped in front of him as though Lionel were some kind of armament deity.

Briefly, the elder Harsham wondered who would classify as 'really naughty' in a community of slavers. Frankly, all of them weren't exactly nice. Ymir was cheerful, but in a casually psychotic manner. "Maybe when you're older. A gun is a very big responsibility and if you're not ready for it, you could kill someone by accident. Do you want that to happen?"

John looked like the bottom had fallen out of his world but fixed his gaze on his shoes and mumbled something quietly.

"What was that John? I didn't quite hear."

Looking like he'd been forced to eat a radscorpion's poison gland, John eventually managed, "No, daddy."

"Good lad. Now, is there anything else you want for your birthday?" The 1st of March... only a week away and Lionel had been too busy dealing with various injuries and illnesses to ask his son what he wanted, not to mention that the absconding Doc Church had left him as the sole doctor for the whole of Paradise Falls. The years were starting to blend together. That was... 2258? Yes, definitely, in the summertime.

He certainly had a few more grey strands in his dark hair than when he had arrived nearly five years ago and been introduced to the cantankerous, overworked doctor. He'd worked as an assistant up until the good doctor's departure and hadn't been able to understand how Church could be so anti-social and irritable. Having the **entire** workload dumped on him made him not only understand, but also wonder why Church hadn't simply gone berserk with an assault rifle. The amount of work was staggering. A slave, Cutter, was doing fairly well in fixing up her fellows whenever he managed to smuggle medical supplies to her, reducing his vast workload. He might suggest to Eulogy that she be made his assistant, which would be incredibly helpful. He desperately needed to offload work.

"Daddy, are you listening to me?"

"Sorry, Johnny. Daddy's very tired. Can you say it again?"

John 'hmph'd at the apparent slight but regained a dazzling smile fairly rapidly. "Can you can get me a copy of 'Guns n Bullets'? Jotun has one, but he never lets me read it. He barely talks, too. He's weird." Whilst such a statement might normally have resulted in a mild reprimand, Lionel was inclined to agree. Having a father like Ymir wasn't healthy for the boy, who was around the same age as John.

"We'll see." Lionel's eye twinkled, however, as he was pretty sure that Ymir wanted Jotun to be a 'great slaver' (an oxymoron if ever there was one) and had ordered multiple copies of books revolving around combat and warfare in order to 'train' his son. Surely he'd be capable of trading for a copy of the desired book; he had that much faith in his own charm. "Also, I think we'll crack open a couple of nuka colas and spend your birthday together. Would you like that?"

John's head looked in danger of falling off his neck, so enthusiastic was his nodding. "Really? The whole day? And I get to have a whole nuka cola to myself?"

Lionel chuckled and placed a gentle hand on his son's shoulder. "Of course. It's your day. I want you to have fun." _Just not the kind of fun that results in you shooting a man in the eye,_ he added mentally. "Now, go and play. Daddy has a lot of work to do." As he watched John disappear out the clinic door, he jogged to the opening that was left by the swinging door and shouted, "Be careful!"

Satisfied that he had navigated father-son time without tears or tantrums, and with a clear plan of action in terms of Cutter's help and John's birthday gift, he sat behind his desk and began to write a careful report to Eulogy on the female slave sleeping fitfully on one of the clinic's beds.

_Name: Henrietta (Surname unknown)_

_Age: 18_

_Condition: Physically stable but undeniably psychologically disturbed_

_Ailment: Henrietta was found in the slave pen in a horrific state, with bruises covering her face and upper body and blood…_

Lionel paused, closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose before letting out a shuddering breath and lowered the pen back to the paper...

_...between her legs. The sole and obvious cause of the aforementioned injuries is rape. I attempted to discover who was responsible but have found only silence and misdirection; even now I am unsure whether it was a slaver or a fellow slave who treated Henrietta so despicably. Though I am aware it is my job to just fix up patients and not ask questions, I urge you to crack down on the perpetrator with your full authority. Slaving is one thing, whereas rape in any fashion, let alone the hideous and brutal manner in which it occurred, is quite another. _

His last report of the day, finally. Now he just had to attach a letter regarding Cutter (her real name was still unknown to him - she'd earned her moniker through her hasty and often essential medical procedures in the slave pen, undertaken whilst Lionel was busy healing and trading medical supplies with slavers), then he'd be done for the day.

_Dear Mr. Jones_

_I was wondering whether it would be possible to hire the slave, 'Cutter', as my assistant due to her medical knowledge and the influx of work that I am currently crushed under. Her presence would allow me to offset some tasks to her and ensure the highest quality of medical care for all your charges. _

_Regards,_

_Lionel Harsham_

_'__Doc'_

He hated himself for the use of the word 'charges', like Eulogy was protecting them. There was no protection, only fear and the removal of anything resembling freedom. Not to mention that the slavers, who could be referred to as his 'charges' too, were the last people on earth who needed protecting.

It made him absolutely livid. Henrietta shouldn't have ever been put through that, but because humanity was royally fucked in the collective head, she wasn't the first rape victim he'd been in charge of treating. The rest were little better off than Brahmin anyway, but when life seemingly couldn't appear to be any worse, she gets... violated. By bastards! Lionel growled and thumped his desk in frustration before stapling the report and the letter together, in the additional hope that the link between the two would become apparent to Eulogy.

He was hardly a brutish monster, but women in that scenario needed someone who could relate and empathize with them and he was hardly capable of that. Medical means only went so far; they needed psychological counselling, which he was one hundred percent unqualified in giving.

Not for the first time in the last five years, Lionel Harsham questioned the wisdom of his decision; he just prayed that his son could become a far better man than he was.


	3. Chapter 3

**Double Figures**

_September 15__th__ 2266_

"I didn't!"

Lionel arched an eyebrow and cast a critical eye over his young son. '_Not so young now', _he corrected himself internally. Twelve years old and proving to be a real pain in the ass, metaphorically and, in this case, literally.

"You bloody well did, you little..." Lionel cut off Cutter's growl with a hasty raising of his hand.

What a mess. He really shouldn't have caved into pressure and given John that BB gun. He foolishly assumed his son was old enough to use it responsibly. '`_Guns 'N' Bullets', 'Duck And Cover'... Those damn books only made him want a weapon even more.' _And now he was faced with this ridiculous scenario...

"I didn't mean to shoot Cutter in the bottom, dad. Honest!"

Cutter looked less than impressed, as always when it came to John. "Yes, you did! How could you have shot me that accurately by accident?"

John grinned cheekily, "Well, it's a big enough target." Clearly John had managed to pick up a smart mouth and a catastrophic lack of tact; fantastic traits if you wanted to survive in a den of slavers. One of the slaves looked ready to throttle him, and it wasn't even midday.

"Right, that's enough John. I'll take care of this, Cutter."

Cutter's scathing look as she departed suggested she didn't have the greatest amount of faith in Lionel's ability to discipline his trigger happy son. John stuck his tongue out at her retreating back and flicked his dirty blond hair from his eyes, causing Lionel to sigh. "I wouldn't wind her up if I was you, Johnny. She's the one who'll be cutting that mop, and I don't think you'll want her to be annoyed with you when she's holding scissors."

John shrugged; an act which he seemed to do more and more nowadays. Was he becoming a teen a year early? "I don't need a haircut, and besides, I need to practice shooting if I'm going to become the greatest marksman in Wasteland history."

Lionel let out another sigh. He wasn't entirely sure Cutter would accept that as an adequate excuse for the assault on her person. If anything, she would probably hang John from the ceiling with surgical tubing if she found out that he did it in order to become better at shooting her next time. John would probably stop if she did that, but supplies were low... it seemed like a waste.

"That's why you shot her? Most kids shoot cans or bottles in order to get better."

John rolled his eyes and Lionel noticed his son's eyes briefly flickered to the BB gun currently confiscated and residing on Lionel's desk. "Cans and bottles don't move, dad! I need a moving target if I'm ever going to become a master!" He then looked like he was going to add something else but then stopped as a blush spread across his neck and face. Something else was up.

Lionel allowed himself a smirk. He finally had the upper hand. "What aren't you telling me, Johnny?"

A look down at his feet; an indecipherable mumble. Lionel cupped a hand to his ear and leant in closer.

"I said I was trying to impress Sarah!"

Lionel only just managed to prevent a bark of laughter. Sarah was a slaver new to Paradise Falls; in her early 20's, brunette and absolutely terrifying. You only had to look in her eyes to know that if the situation arose, she wouldn't hesitate to put a knife in your eye... and twist it, probably. While she was undeniably attractive, she was also a borderline psychotic. Shooting people probably was the best way to gain her admiration.

"Interesting way to get a girl, Johnny. Did she approve?"

John looked like he wanted the ground to open and swallow him up, such was his embarrassment at having to share this with his father, but nonetheless, he managed another cheeky grin. "She laughed and winked at me. I think she likes me."

Lionel's eyebrows were in danger of disappearing into his admittedly receding hairline. Maybe Sarah had a soft spot for children. It would be surprising, but not the most shocking revelation in history; about as surprising as finding out that his little boy was starting to become interested in girls. He had briefly covered the topic a couple of years ago (so he was in no danger of having the 'Where do babies come from?' conversation), but at the time John had showed little to no interest in kissing, or girls or anything even vaguely sexual, which Lionel was relieved about. Paradise Falls was definitely not the place to develop an awkward first crush, but now...

"You don't think she's a little old for you, son?"

"Love conquers all!"

The passion in the statement took Lionel off guard and he began to laugh. He knew he was never going to be able to punish John now; Cutter was going to have a fit. When he finally managed to calm himself down, he glanced at his son, who looked distinctly unhappy with his father's reaction to his declaration of undying love. "I'm sorry son, but I think you should probably wait a few years before you start thinking you're in love." He ruffled his son's hair; much to the latter's annoyance. "I'll let you off this time, but you have to apologize to Cutter. And for the love of God, please make it seem like I've punished you. She's starting to realize that you have a way of wriggling out of it."

John grinned, and Lionel wondered if he'd fallen hook, line and sinker for some sort of complex plan that his son had concocted. '_Oh well, too late now_...'

"Okay dad, I'll go and find her. She's probably at the pen." John wrinkled his nose at his own mention of 'the pen'. He hated slavery, as Lionel brought him up to, and had made friends with a few of the enslaved children. In fact, he had even questioned Eulogy's decision to keep slaves once, during one of the Paradise Falls leader's strolls around the area. Luckily for father and son, Eulogy had shrugged it off with customary grace and finesse. After that, Lionel had sat him down and explained the necessity of staying at the slavers' headquarters and requested that John not bring up the subject with any slavers again.

It had not been Lionel's proudest moment as a father, and he resented himself for having to check his own son's moral compass, but necessity called, and he was fully aware that living where they lived was necessary, though not ideal by any stretch of the imagination.

"Okay, play safe."

John gave his father a hug and walked to the desk to retrieve his BB gun, only to be thwarted by Lionel picking up the aforementioned weapon, his face a mask of disbelief.

"Do you actually expect me to give this back, Johnny? You shot someone when you promised me you'd be careful!" John looked pleadingly at his dad and his bottom lip quivered slightly:

"I promise I'll be really careful, I'll only shoot cans and bottles and I'll apologise to Cutter and ask if she wants a go, please daddy, please, please, please?" Lionel looked into his son's beseeching eyes and sighed once more, he was a weak, weak man. He held out the BB gun to John and allowed his son to take hold of the stock but he held fast to the barrel, knelt down, looked into John's eyes and uttered three simple words:

"Don't. Shoot. Anyone." John held his hand over his heart and replied with two even simpler words:

"I won't." With that, Lionel relinquished the gun and allowed John to exit into the midday sunshine, around five minutes after his son had left, he was ploughing through paperwork and just waiting for the next injured patron to enter his clinic when he heard the unmistakable sound of a BB gun, followed by a dog yelping and a great deal of angry shouting, one word cut through the noise and confusion and it took Lionel a while to realise it came from his own mouth.

"Shit."


	4. Chapter 4

**The Times They Are A-Changin'.**

_14__th__ November 2270_

It was so different now, Lionel reflected, Paradise Falls wasn't just a base of slavers, it was **the** base of slavers. The population of the Capital Wasteland spoke of it rarely and when they did it was in hushed tones, as though they feared that Eulogy and his lackeys would swoop out of thin air to punish them for their insolence. The bigger the place grew the more work Lionel and Cutter had to do and the more work they did, the more Lionel regretted ever settling here in the first place. Even worse was the fact that John had begun to view their continuing habitation here as assisting the practice of slavery and had become moody and sullen, even more so than was usual for a boy of his age. 16 years old. It had crept up on Lionel so gradually that it seemed like he had blinked and missed his own son's maturation, he'd turned into a fine young man... outspoken, witty and intelligent, he couldn't have been prouder. But John was so angry and bitter over living in Paradise Falls that Lionel wondered whether they should just leave. He shook his head at his own line of thought, they couldn't. John had made the same enquiry, multiple times but he was living in his own idealised world, it was dangerous out there and morals wouldn't save them from Radscorpions or Raiders or Deathclaws or, indeed, slavers. A ruckus outside disrupted his reflection and he heard raised voices before the door of his clinic crashed open.

"Fuck you, you fuckin' assholes, I'll kill you!" Rather predictably, it was John, being dragged away from the target of his ire by Sarah. His swept, blonde hair was wild and hung haphazardly across his face, blood was pouring freely from a cut on his bottom lip and he looked as though he'd been dragged through a bush not just backwards but side-to-side and back-to-front , Sarah, as usual, looked absolutely flawless and was regarding the furious, struggling John with a hint of... respect? What on earth had his son done...?

Lionel's eyes raked over the bizarre scene before him and opened his mouth to address Sarah, "What happened? What's John done?"

John didn't allow his captor the opportunity to speak as he turned livid eyes upon his father. "What I've done is give some fuckers the ass-kicking they deserved." Lionel lips moved wordlessly before he once again turned his head towards Sarah and raised his eyebrows. Sarah gave a small smile before replying, Lionel got the impression that she had mellowed a lot since her arrival, making him think that perhaps her decision to join had been fuelled by rage over an indignity suffered in her recent past or maybe having John buzzing around her for four years had endeared him to her.

"That's a pretty accurate description of what happened, Doc. Jotun and some of the slavers' sons said something to John over by the slave pens, I was too far away to hear what it was but he went berserk and took two of them down before I could drag him away. As you can see, Jotun also got in a fair old whack." Lionel instantly fixed his son with his hardest glare.

"What did they say that got you so riled up? You're better than this." Rather than shrinking away or giving a sheepish grin like Lionel expected him to, the anger in John's eyes increased tenfold.

"I was talking to some of the slaves when Jotun and his dickhead buddies came over, they asked why I was talking to the cattle and that they were only good for selling and fucking. I told that they were all sick fucks and they said..." John's voice faltered before returning with even more venom, "They said that my old man patches them up when they get fucked so it doesn't matter, they still get sold." Lionel's heart sank and he wished with all his heart that he could've been a better father and a better man for this sole beacon of decency in a slaver's hellhole. John fixed his father with an incensed glower.

"Still think I'm better than this? Or were they right? Are you just here to repair the slavers' fucktoys? I mean, it doesn't matter right? They're only slaves!" He then snatched himself out of Sarah's grasp and pointed an accusing finger at her, "and I didn't need your goddamn help!" Sarah stood coolly and implacably prior to her rebuke.

"Who says I was helping you? You were about ready to kill those boys for being ignorant, not enough ammo in the world to kill everyone who's ignorant." Lionel thought that 'ignorant' was perhaps a touch light but he conceded her point, Jotun was probably just recounting something he'd heard his father, Ymir, say. John threw his hands in the air in an expression of exasperation,

"Oh, surprise, the slavers cover each other's backs, god forbid we should remember that there are real people being treated like fucking cattle!" He turned to his father with an expression so pitiful and distraught that Lionel felt his heart breaking, "why are we still here? Why aren't we on the road to anywhere else? Rivet City, Megaton, Arefu, I don't care! Just anywhere where we aren't playing best friends with slavers and letting all this shit happen!" Lionel felt his son's pain, he really did, and had had the same thought more times than he could count but he had to attend to reality.

"I'm sorry, John but..."

"I know, I know, it's too dangerous. Not like living in the lap of fucking monsters, fucking definition of safety there. Fine, but don't expect anyone to save our asses when they turn on us and decide we're worth more inside the pen than out." John sighed before his face contorted in rage and he pointed an accusing finger at his father, "fuck it all and fuck you! All the corpses in the pens, all the rape victims, all the orphans, they're as much your fault as the slavers. I'll get out of here someday even if you're too much of a coward to!"

And with that John stormed out of the clinic, knocking Sarah out of the way as he left, muttering foul curses under his breath. Lionel let out a deep, shuddering sigh and ran his hands down his face before giving a small, sad smile to Sarah. "Thanks for stepping in Sarah; I'm sorry you had to see that." Sarah gave a nod and turned to leave, something stopped her before she left.

"You've raised a fine son, Doc. And he's growing into a stand up fella, don't worry about it. He's just blowing off steam; someday he'll understand why you're doing what you're doing and he'll thank you for it. This place is much more bearable for the slaves with you here than it would be otherwise, I know that probably won't mean much but it's true." Lionel nodded his thanks, too overcome with conflicting emotions to trust himself to speak. "Now I'm going to find your boy and make sure he hasn't waded straight back into the fight with Jotun and his cronies. You have a nice day, Doc."

"You too, Sarah." With that she was gone and Lionel was alone in his office, too many thoughts flying through his head to focus on just one at once. _I've failed him. ...just here to repair the slavers' fucktoys. ...as much your fault as the slavers'. Coward. Someday he'll understand._ The pressure finally got to Lionel and he broke down and wept, for the first time since that fateful day his wife had died. He felt like he'd cried forever before he finally managed to halt the flow of tears. He had no doubt that Sarah was right, someday John would understand why he had made the decisions he had but he got the distinct feeling that by the time his headstrong son had come to that conclusion, he would be long gone. In the meantime, he would have to accept his son's fury and pray everyday for 'someday' to arrive.


	5. Chapter 5

**Adventure!**

_21__st__ April 2271_

Lionel had incredibly mixed feelings about the entire venture; some of the slavers were planning to take his 17 year old son out on a raid in order to quell his vehement opposition to the practice. They explained how they intended to capture a Raider leader who had built up a reputation for being particularly cruel and sadistic, even amongst Raiders, and figured that seeing someone like that would perhaps make John realise the necessity of Paradise Falls.

Lionel didn't know what to feel, he didn't want his son to lose his morality and he certainly didn't want his son to become a slaver, but the current situation was becoming almost entirely unworkable. John was just about ready to kill someone; the slavers, for their part, looked just about ready to kill John. Not to mention the fact that Lionel had purchased a hunting rifle for his son for his 17th birthday. What else was he going to do with it besides use it to kill people? Especially in the ruthless environment that is the Capital Wasteland; still, it didn't seem fair that his son should have to grow up so quickly and be put in danger, but as Eulogy had explained, John wasn't a slave and therefore added nothing to the set-up at Paradise Falls. He'd been tolerated before, as he was only a child, but now that he was beginning to mature he was just an adult draining their resources and offering nothing in return.

John had begun to pick up a little bit of medical training and was a capable enough assistant but Lionel certainly didn't trust him to patch up the wounds of the slavers, at least not if they wanted the same number of limbs they entered the clinic with. So it looked like this raid was the only way of proving his usefulness, unfortunately. He was worried sick, the raid could fail and his son could die. John could shoot the slavers in the back and run off into the wasteland or, even worse, he could gain a taste for slavery and become just like the monsters here. Lionel raked his hand across his eyes. S_top worrying! _He scolded himself; he had to have faith in both his son's ability and his common sense. The object of his fretting stepped through the clinic doors, heavy bag slung over one shoulder and hunting rifle clutched in the other. He was wearing a near unreadable expression, there was a healthy dose of cynicism in there, mixed with excitement, fear and perhaps... a little sadness? It was becoming more and more difficult with John nowadays, he was always quick with a quip or a one liner, but he was hardly forthcoming with his emotions anymore, not after **that **incident, the one that had caused Lionel to break down. The fact that John was visiting him before he left was a good sign, he felt.

"Hey dad, thought I'd pop in and make sure you weren't on the floor with a broken hip before I went to further Eulogy's evil agenda."

Lovely, John's trademark smirk was firmly in place and Lionel couldn't help but return it. When John was in one of these moods, it was totally infectious.

"You'll be lucky if I don't give you a broken hip, damn whippersnapper." They shared a brief chuckle before Lionel fixed his son with a look as a thought occurred to him. "I've got a present for you Johnny."

Adult suspicion cautiously gave way to childlike optimism on John's face before he noted the use of the name 'Johnny' and his nose wrinkled:

"Don't call me that, I hate it."

Lionel smiled and said nothing as he reached into the bottom drawer of his desk and plucked out the item he required before handing over to John with no small amount of reverence. The slightly awed look on John's face was a fairly good indication that his gift had gone over very well, but, well, he wanted confirmation of his decision.

"What do you think, son? Will you let me get away with calling you Johnny?"

John held the scoped .44 magnum as though it was made of spun silk and glass as his fingers idly traced the word 'Susan' carved into the side of the barrel. The small smile on John's face changed to another smirk as he looked up at his father. O_h lord, I wonder if there's a vacancy here for a comedian... _

"My mother was a gun? That explains an awful lot, dad..." His expression softened as he continued, "seriously though, thanks, it's... amazing, it means a lot to me."

There was a certain amount of poignancy to the gift, Lionel mused; father passing it down to the son, the son inheriting the mantle, but Lionel had full faith in his son's ability to handle it, John was only 17 and still a better shot than he could ever dream of being. He'd seen his son on the practice range and it was absolutely uncanny... and a little frightening.

"Use it well, Johnny." Lionel decided to ignore the joke, it would only encourage him. "Stay safe and remember that I love you." John went in for the hug and they stayed like that for a few seconds before separating.

John offered up yet another smirk as he spun his newly acquired magnum on his finger. "It's not me that you need to worry about being safe." And with that, he winked at his father and walked out the door.

Luckily Sarah was going with him, Lionel thought; at least someone was there to keep his ego in check.


	6. Chapter 6

**Blood on his Hands**

_25__th__ April 2271_

Lionel was worried. John and his merry band of slavers were due back yesterday and while schedules were generally meaningless in the Capital Wasteland, Lionel couldn't help but feel that he would have been much happier had this one been adhered to. A series of increasingly unpleasant scenarios whirled through his mind, ranging from the ludicrous to the horribly realistic and he wished that his imagination would keep itself in check.

The sound of the gate opening snapped him out of his gloomy reverie and filled him with fresh hope as he cautiously walked out of his clinic to await the arrivals. Ten slavers and John had set off on the 21st and now... They were back! A crowd had gathered to welcome the returning 'heroes' and there was much muttered excitement as the raiding party began to file through the sheet metal gateway, Lionel clocked Sarah, then another three slavers he didn't recognise, then John at the rear escorting a thick-set, muscular Raider with a cruel sneer on his face who was bound with rope around his wrists. Lionel realised that six slavers were missing and... God! John had angled his head to the side slightly and Lionel saw a thin scar extending from just above his right eye going across his cheek and ending below his right ear. What the hell happened? He rushed over to his son, whose mouth stretched into a smile but whose eyes looked infinitely troubled:

"John! What happened? Where are the other slavers? How did you get that scar?"

The questions tumbled out in a rush and John's eyes widened slightly at the onslaught before he placed his arm on his father's shoulder and motioned towards the clinic, ah yes, it would probably be better to discuss this in private. John then called Sarah over and pointed to the captive Raider leader, she nodded and went to lead him off but not before John placed his knee into the Raider's groin with eye-watering force, as the brute slumped to the ground, Lionel's son knelt down and whispered something that Lionel couldn't quite hear into the prone man's ear but judging by the fierce look on his offspring's face and the paling of his counterpart, it was probably something he was glad not to catch. As the groaning, twitching man was led away, John turned back to his father and offered another sad smile before leading the way to the clinic.

Once inside, Lionel closed the door and looked towards his son with a great deal of concern written all over his face.

"What happened out there, Johnny?" John let out a deep breath and, ignoring the use of his nickname which worried Lionel, began recounting the events which occurred:

"You're an ass, Harsham."

John laughed and danced away from Sarah's lazy strike, mirth ingrained into every line on his face:

"It's a very simple game, Sarah, children play it all the time and they have no problems; maybe you're just not very clever?"

Sarah sighed and began stroking her chin thoughtfully; ignoring the fact that they were adults and that perhaps they had outgrown this game slightly.

"I really don't know, Stratosphere? Sun? Sky? Sand?"

John smirked and shifted the weight of his hunting rifle marginally more to the left of his shoulder before turning to face Sarah and slowly shaking his head with that infuriating smirk still in place, Sarah wanted desperately to wipe it off but wasn't quite ready to resort to full violence yet. She racked her brains for more words; no way was she going to lose I-Spy to this shithead... Wait...

"Shithead?"

Another bark of laughter but this time John deemed the answer worthy of a response,

"Is that a guess or are you getting frustrated?"

"Both. Just tell me what it is, before I drive a knife into your stupid face."

The corners of John's mouth twitched as he prepared to reveal the answer, seeing Sarah this wound up provided him with endless joy, it was his own little way of striking back against the system and hey, his heart did an odd little flip every time she laughed at something he said so it wasn't like he was a martyr for his cause.

"Sarah." The look on Sarah's face was absolutely priceless, parts dumbfounded shock and parts outright indignation. She recovered rapidly, however, and smiled at John before speaking.

"Very clever, you Brahmin's ass, it's my turn now. I spy with my little eye something beginning with D."

Without skipping a beat, John replied, "dick."

"Dickhead, actually."

John chuckled as he shielded his eyes from the intense sunlight, they had been walking for hours now and it was still as hot as when they had set off. The Capital Wasteland rather neatly matched its name and frankly, John was bored out of his mind. Occasionally, they passed some ancient building of the pre-war era and John would pretend to be interested as Sarah ooh-ed and aah-ed over the 'history'. _Dead relics from a dead time_ John thought, but Sarah seemed to be having far too much fun for him to tell her that. To distract himself, he had decided to suggest I-Spy with rather predictable results. The other slavers were giving them a wide berth but John wasn't sure if that was because he had made his stance on slavery fairly clear or because they were scared of Sarah. Either way, he was glad they weren't getting in his face; the combination of heat and boredom meant that it wouldn't end favourably for either party. It would still be a day or so until they reached their destination, an abandoned office space where this raider and his crew had set up their base of operations. His name was 'Cutthroat Jack', apparently, a name that John reckoned the raider had concocted for himself in order to build up a reputation. What a twat. Ordinarily he wouldn't support slavery in any way, shape or form but death seemed too good for this cretin, judging by the rumours he'd heard. He needed a distraction, thinking about raiders made his trigger finger itch and there was nothing around to take his frustration out on. His eyes flicked sideways to where Sarah was strolling alongside him, looking equally bored.

"Sarah..."

She sighed and kept walking forwards without looking at him. "I'm not playing I-Spy with you."

John pouted slightly before his countenance lightened, "Strip I-Spy?"

Sarah's laughter spluttered out of her as she turned to face the blond teen, pointing a finger and raising her eyebrow. "What would be in for me?"

John preened slightly, "Naked John Harsham, of course, what else could you want?"

Sarah looked less than impressed, "I repeat my question."

John placed a hand over his heart, as though wounded and turned his head away from the brunette slaver. "I bare my soul and this is how you repay me? Makes me wonder why I bother."

Sarah shook her head and grinned, "As long as your soul is all you're baring then I don't care. And I wonder why you bother, too. I'd have thought that Clover was more your bag. She's closer to your age."

John let out an exaggerated and prolonged shudder and made gagging sounds, "I hope you're kidding! She's a brain dead psychopath!" John twirled his father's magnum round his index finger and posed with the barrel pointing to the sky. "I feel that I can aim for a higher standard of woman."

Sarah gave another exasperated sigh, "I'll be aiming at you in a sec but yeah, you're right, that wouldn't be an even match."

John raised an eyebrow in surprise at the fact she had finally acknowledged his superiority.

"The poor girl would end up killing herself or you more likely. It'd be interesting to see two 'brain dead psychopaths' paired up, though."

John rolled his eyes. He got the distinct impression that Sarah was winning this verbal sparring session, not to mention that the inclusion of Clover in the conversation unnerved him slightly. He'd seen her staring at him once when he'd be out back practicing his shooting. He genuinely couldn't tell whether she wanted to fuck him or tear his spine out, probably both. It wasn't a particularly reassuring thought either way.

"No reply Harsham? Didn't realise it was this easy to shut you up - if only I'd known sooner. You thinking about your favourite female bodyguard?"

John chewed on his lip thoughtfully and turned towards his brunette adversary, "I was actually."

Sarah's look of triumph was fleeting as the smirking sharpshooter continued.

"I was thinking that I probably don't need to worry that much about her. I've seen her staring at a certain female across the yard and licking her lips." He uttered the last portion of his monologue with no small amount of relish and a pointed look at his companion.

Sarah's laughter faded and died almost instantly when she regarded the look of utter seriousness on John Harsham's face. She swallowed audibly and attempted an air of nonchalance. "You're kidding right, Johnny?" No reply. "Right?" Another moment of silence and she started to sound fairly hysterical. "Right?"

John allowed himself a smirk; it was about time he won.

To be continued...


	7. Chapter 7

**Blood on his Hands, Continued**

**Author's Note: Have to apologise for the ridiculous gap between this chapter and the last. Got swamped with work and ideas for a Resident Evil/ My Little Pony fic which utterly consumed my brain and refused to let me write this story. Now I'm returning to this one as well as 'My Little Wesker' due to the freedom of summer. Thanks for your patience, let me know what you think.**

_Still April 25__th__ 2271_

Lionel was still concerned over his son's state of mind and the injury he had incurred but he sighed nonetheless at John's comprehensive build-up to the actual events themselves. "So, I'm guessing that Sarah gave you that scar?"

John actually chuckled at this statement, raising Lionel's spirits slightly, "Like she could ever bring herself to hurt me, I'm practically her hero." A sceptical but faintly amused look was all the blond received from his father in return, "What?"

"I find it hard to believe that Johnny, I may need to hear the rest of what happened."

John smiled lightly in return whilst scrunching his face up at the use of his hated nickname and ran a hand over the patchy stubble adorning his chin, "Fair enough, old man..."

What a total shithole they had decided to hole themselves up in. John supposed the odds of them finding a miraculously radiation proof mansion which had somehow remained untouched for two hundred years or more were on the slim side. Still, calling this place a cesspit was slander to cesspits everywhere.

Sarah appeared to sense his discomfort, though the obvious look of horror on his face wasn't exactly difficult to interpret, "Not feeling like camping out, Johnny?"

He stared back in disbelief, "Camping out? You're fucking kidding me, right? This is slumming it... at best!" Her laugh in return served only to partly assuage his gloom; they were going to be spending the night in a tiny trailer, strewn with bones that belonged to some unfortunate fuckers, either from the Great War or just from a couple of years ago. Who knew... or cared? John booted the skeletal remains out of the trailer door and dusted off the floor where they had previously lain, placing his sleeping roll in their place. "I mean sure, there aren't any mutants or ghouls but Jesus, it's horrible!"

One of the accompanying slavers growled, "Hey kid, shut the fuck up! Some of us are trying to sleep here!"

John smirked as he honed in on his target, ignoring Sarah's attempts to dissuade him, "You may feel right at home in this shit but some of us have a bit of class."

"Or maybe I'm not a little pussy like you. Go to sleep."

John frowned indignantly, "I'm a pussy? I wasn't the one crying over the radroach we found. 'Oh, it's so gross; I hate the way its legs move. Save me, I've just pissed my pants!'Good job I was there to stop it from eating your ass."

The slaver sat up in his bedroll aggressively, "Say that to my face, you little cunt!"

John brushed the bridge of his nose in mock contemplation, "Isn't that what I just did? Bless, has the little radroach scrambled your brain?"

As the slaver dashed towards John, combat knife drawn, the blond whipped his magnum out and pointed it at the advancing man's groin, causing him to halt in his tracks instantly. Sarah rolled her eyes as John smirked cockily and baited the man further, "So eager to lose your balls? I know the idea of you passing on your genes terrifies me too but that's a bit extreme."

As John's rival fumed, Sarah stepped between the two of them, "Stop being pricks, both of you." She turned to the random slaver, "Johnson, back down and go back to sleep, letting this guy" She jerked her thumb in a suspiciously innocent looking blond's direction, "bait you reflects really badly on you." He grumbled but complied, turning around and settling back down into his sleeping area as John cheerily waved him goodbye, stopping instantly as Sarah turned to face him. "And stop being an asshole Johnny, I know it's difficult but at least try."

He went to protest his innocence but stopped at his friend's stern look, waving his hands placatingly "Fine, fine but let the records state that I won."

She pushed him back onto his bedroll, "Duly noted. Now go to sleep, you dick."

Waking up the next morning was infinitely more enjoyable than John had anticipated, especially since it appeared as though Sarah had rolled over in the confined space and had sprawled herself over his chest. This was certainly an interesting conundrum and a pleasant one, without a shadow of a doubt. He settled for feigning sleep until she awoke, in order to avoid an awkward moment... at least that's the reason he gave to himself as he attempted to ignore the feeling of her chest against his side. Eventually, he heard her stir and ultimately decided that avoiding an awkward moment didn't take precedence over his own amusement. His eyes snapped open at the same time as hers and they made eye contact. John offered her a lazy smirk as Sarah looked utterly bemused,

The blond was the first to speak, "Wow, how much did we have to drink last night? I can't believe you took advantage of me like that."

Sarah groaned and rolled him away as she realised what had happened, "Great. I bet you're going to be insufferable today because of this."

John cocked his head to the side, "I'm not usually insufferable? You're so nice to me babe." She moaned once more and moved away from the smirking blond as he roused himself and stood up once he noticed that they were the only ones left in the trailer. "Don't think the others left to give us some privacy, do you?" He followed this statement with a roguish wink, causing Sarah to grumble again, rapidly pack her threadbare possessions and sprint out of the trailer as John seemingly found the entire situation incredibly amusing. The situation required something else in John's opinion and he called after her, "Love watching you leave sweet cheeks."

The volley of abuse he received in return served only to further brighten his mood.

Lionel ran an exasperated hand across his forehead, "John... please advance ahead a bit in the story. I think I understand how witty you are."

The younger Harsham gave an exaggerated sigh, "Just making sure... I'll skip ahead."

John hefted his hunting rifle across his shoulder as the strap cut into his flesh uncomfortably and reminded him how tired he was. He turned his head towards Sarah, who was looking resolutely forward, "We're close now, right? I can't take any more walking, this gun weighs far more than you'd think."

She didn't turn to face him but a small smile curled her lips, "Maybe you're just not very strong, Johnny?"

He shrugged, wincing at the movement of the rifle once more, "You've felt my muscles, and you know that's not true." Sarah made a noise of pure exasperation as John chuckled softly to himself, "Answer my question, are we close to this 'Cutthroat Twat' or whatever his name is?"

A gruff voice issued forth from behind John, "Closer than you'd think, asshole."

_Shit._


End file.
